Of Wolf and Man: Prologue
by the-ear-that-isn't-there
Summary: 'He had no illusions about how his life would turn out; he was werewolf. That was it. However normal he pretended to be, that was always going to be the only constant in his life.' - The story behind the bite that changed one boy's life forever.
1. Part I: The Last Room on the Left

_A/N: So, the time has finally come. After 5 years as a member of this site, I am finally uploading a story. This is only the four-part prologue to the start of my epic novel concerning one of my favourite fictional characters ever, Remus Lupin. Don't let the P.O.V. scare you aware, this all concerns him. If you're interested in said novel, stick around because I will, eventually, upload it as well. In the mean time, I give you this. It isn't necessary to read this prologue in order to understand the main story, but of course I would love you to._

_A bit of back story first. I started this sometime in July or August of 2006, so to say it has been a long time in the making isn't really even necessary. I remember exactly where I was when I wrote the very first sentence of this story: sitting in a movie theatre, waiting for Pirates of the Caribbean 2 to start (because yes, I am one of those people who carries around a pen and paper wherever I go). It took me almost a whole year to finish this one chapter and it has undergone many edits and re-edits over time (btw, I have no beta, I'm not ever sure I know what they are, so any mistakes in spelling, grammar or continuity are all my fault). I managed to get the final 3 parts of the prologue done in only a few months after that, but similarly, they too have been altered and changed at my whim over the last 3 or so years._

_I've taken so long to upload for several reasons. One: I am chronically afraid of failure and writing is one of the few things I think (hope?) I'm okay...ish at, so I've always had the fear of sharing this story and being told I suck and should desist immediately. Two: When I say this story this story is epic, I mean literally, it is epically long, and I never wanted to be one of those people who started something, put the beginning of it online, and then never touched it again. But it's getting to the point where I either need to act now and upload the damn thing, or just abandon it completely because no-one but me is ever going to see it and that is just pathetic. And Three: See reason one again, because seriously, I'm freaking out right now._

_So, to sum up (for those of you mad enough to still be reading this long and tediously unnecessary qualifying introduction), __I'm hoping that sharing this story with all of you will give me the encouragement I need to keep writing and keep uploading so... fingers crossed you like it, right?_

___Away we go!_

Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even enough wit to come up with some amusing way of phrasing this statement.

* * *

**Of Wolf and Man**

**Prologue**

**Part I**

The Last Room on the Left

_In which we meet one of our sub-heroes and begin an investigation into the tragic circumstances surrounding our main protagonist._

The morning dawned cold, grey and damp. Skirting between the clouds that blanketed the sky, the sun cast a chill glow on the wet streets of London as it peaked over the urban horizon.

It was not a good morning. Alastor Moody conceded that fact as he stomped through the streets, through shallow puddles and throngs of early morning people bustling along, just as he was, to early morning jobs. The frost that had, at some point in the night, soaked into every stone and building of the city made his bones creak and his gammy right leg ache, telling him more rain was on the way.

As he paused at a street corner, waiting for a free moment to cross, Moody felt the familiar prickle of eyes sweeping over his frame. A young man stood to his right, overcoat and umbrella sheltering his crisply pressed suit and tie, staring at him in a transparent and frankly obnoxious way. He flushed immediately when he realised he'd been caught out. Moody merely scoffed under his breath and stomped over the rushing gutter to move out into the traffic. He was used to people staring.

While Alastor Moody could never have been considered a great beauty, his appearance had deteriorated somewhat recently. His broad face was grey and tired, a rather savage scar cutting through his top lip and twisting it awkwardly. His hair had thinned over the years, leaving a patchy mop of dark locks that hung around his face and his beetle black eyes. He wasn't tall or short, stocky or thin but carried himself with such an obvious alertness that, even with a lame leg and the substantial limp that came with it, no one doubted his physical capabilities.

His appearance was easily explained however, for Alastor Moody was, though the young man didn't know it, a wizard. If the odd contraptions of varying worth and use scattered about his being weren't proof enough, the wand clutched tightly in his pocket was. Yet Moody wasn't only a wizard but an Auror, a dark wizard catcher, and one of the best around. Getting to the top of in his chosen field had come at a cost but he figured sacrificing a few pints of blood and unnecessary body parts was well worth it for the good he did.

As the clouds overhead closed over the sun completely and light drizzle began to fall, Moody ran a weary hand through his diminishing hair. He was tired, sore and cold and would have much rather have been anywhere else but trudging through grimy streets on his way to the Ministry of Magic. The owl requesting his presence at Auror Headquarters had awoken him from one of his few morning sleep-ins. Needless to say, the battered man was not happy about that. But, duty called, and lost sleep and fickle working hours came with the Auror territory.

Rain was falling thick and hard before Moody arrived at the Ministry.

* * *

The Auror Offices were all but completely deserted when Moody entered, dripping wet and hoping all hell had broken loose just to have given him a reasonable excuse for getting out of bed. He slouched into his cubicle, a small space made all the more cramped by the stacks of records and files piled on his desk, cabinet and floor. As he shook out his sopping hair, a face appeared from around the corner.

"Wet out?"

Allan Brody was a tall man, once good looking but steadily losing his fit physique to age, inactivity and a penchant for pastries. He was also the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It wasn't uncommon for Aurors to work hand in hand with the DRCMC, particularly on some of the more grisly cases, and Moody had certainly seen a few. He had also had enough owls and memos from Brody to have recognised his writing on the letter delivered that morning.

Moody merely hoped that the other man had enough smarts to leave his damned sense of humour at the door. Or at least, keep it out of conversation until later in the day, like when the sun had actually risen.

"What is it, Brody?" he asked briskly, shrugging out of his long cloak and tossing it onto the lopsided coat rack in the corner.

The large man seemed to not be paying attention. "Really Alastor, you look ridiculous. Did you forget you had already dressed when you showered this morning?" He poked at Moody's coat where a small puddle was gathering below from the water dribbling off the sleeves and hem.

Alastor settled his cool, dark gaze on the taller man. "It's raining. I walked to work."

"You do have your Apparition licence, don't you? I know your work methods can be a tad unorthodox, but I would have thought it a requirement for any Auror." Brody chuckled at his own sarcasm.

Moody looked up from where he was unpacking his wand, a short and solid ash with a dragon heartstring. Various dark-detecting instruments had also appeared from his robe pockets and lay scattered across the desk, whizzing and humming and sparking in complete disorder.

"What is it you called me in for, Brody?" he ventured again, but once more, his query went unnoticed.

Brody had turned away from him and was fiddling with one of the three broken _Sneakoscopes_ stacked on Moody's top shelf. "It really should be a requirement; we do have a certain image to maintain here. No one will respect the Ministry if our top law enforcement agents arrive at the office looking like they swam in."

Moody rubbed irritably at his eyes. "I don't like Apparating so _early_ in the morning," he said, pointedly. "I've seen better wizards than you splinch themselves simply because of fatigue. _What do you want?_"

"I expected as much. After all, you are the same Alastor Moody who refuses to connect his house to the Floo Network because he thinks everyman and his dog is out to get him. What I don't understand is why you think people would bother trying to attack you in your own home when, apparently, you walk the streets, alone and exposed in broad daylight, whenever you're too tired to Apparate." And, again, Brody chuckled at his own feeble humour.

Unfortunately, the Auror in the room didn't find him nearly so funny.

"Brody, for God's sake, you had best have a better excuse for dragging me out of bed on my one day off in five bloody weeks than to mock my chosen methods of travel and tell poor bloody jokes! Have some responsibility for once, and stop fooling around. Whatever has happened must be serious or you wouldn't have called me, but you're too busy lollygagging about to stay on bloody task. Vigilance man! Pay attention!"

The DRCMC Head blinked stupidly and even managed a sheepish flush.

Moody waited, trying and failing to recall the deep breathing exercises his mother had once taught him.

"Well?" he demanded. "Tell me there's been another attack, or damn it, get out of my office and let me go home!"

In a second, Allan Brody was all business, straightening his robes, grey moustache bristling. "I requested an Auror, the Heads suggested you. They said you've handled your fair share of werewolf cases."

"That's right."

The past few investigations were hardly easy to forget. Three kids in three months, or rather, three moons. The cases had been dropped and put down to pure accident when none of their suspects could be held accountable. Moody didn't need to remember that last night was a full moon to know where this was going.

"Another kid, then?" he asked and took the proffered file from Brody's hand.

"Yeah, attacked last night just outside of Carlisle. He's alive. I want you to head over to St Mungo's; see what you can get from his parents… or him, if he wakes up." The big man's voice cracked slightly. Moody knew why. Brody had five-year-old twins.

"After that, head out to the scene of the attack. The Werewolf Capture Unit may appreciate whatever insight you can give them and you're the best authority on the subject if it is the same monster that got the others."

"Right…" Moody dropped off as he looked at the case file. "…Lupin? That's not a relative of Roland Lupin's, is it? From the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"It's his son. He's four."

Moody had never seen Allan Brody so unnerved. He looked down at the victim's photo. It was a black and white shot, but still fairly new. A tiny, pale boy with large eyes looked back at him from beneath a head of light-coloured hair and smiled, widely. He was only four years old. Moody shuddered.

"I didn't know Roland had a son…" Both men were silent, watching the tiny Lupin child in the photo return to the picture book perched in his lap.

An owl hooted from the other side of the office and both men jerked back to attention.

"Right then," said Brody, straightening his robes again; a nervous twitch, the Auror noted. "You'd best be off."

Moody nodded and stood, stretching his damnably stiff right leg. He snapped the file closed and gathered his cloak and belongings again. With a sombre nod to Brody, he stomped out of his office.

As Moody headed for the elevator that led to the Atrium and the many floo exits, Brody called out. His voice was low and his eyes serious. "Listen Alastor, I want you to be careful with this one. I don't know if Lupin's kid was a random target or not, but I'm sure he wasn't supposed to survive. I doubt the werewolf that did this is thrilled about that."

Moody was taken aback to see Brody so grave, so professional. It was certainly a good reminder as to why he was the Head of Department.

"Just try not to get yourself killed, it's bad for publicity." Brody tried to grin, but the smile withered and fell from his face.

With a farewell nod the big man scurried away, vanishing behind a row of cubicles.

Moody slouched to the elevator, pressed the down button and waited as it slowly descended to the Atrium. Gathering a handful of powder, he stepped into the closest fireplace and, a blur of green flame later, lurched out into the foyer of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

* * *

From an early age, Alastor Moody had disliked St Mungo's. The memories of past wounds that had brought him through the doors did little to inspire more optimistic thoughts and the too-clean smell that infected everything and everyone that passed through always made him feel slightly ill. He couldn't help the shudder that crept up his spine as he approached the front desk and the middle-aged receptionist sitting there.

He withdrew his Auror badge from his pocket and held it out to the woman. "Morning, I'm Auror Moody. I'm looking for…" He glanced down at the case file again. "Remus Lupin. I'm investigating his case."

The receptionist looked up at him; her eyes, heavy with makeup, skimmed over the shield Moody held, the gold and silver of the crest glinting in the dim hospital light.

"First floor, last door on the left, opposite the Dai Llewellyn ward," she informed him in a quick voice, flicking a finger over the list in front of her. "He's just come out of emergency and they've given him a private room." There was no need to ask why.

Halfway up the rickety stairwell to the first floor, Moody glanced again at the case file, skim reading over it. He looked to the victim's personal information. "Mother's a Muggle," he muttered to himself, staring at the name Elaine Lupin. He cursed under his breath, knowing he might have to be careful what he said around her. This was just one more annoyance to add to his ever-growing list concerning this case.

Later, when Moody looked back at the meeting that took place in that private room on the first floor, he almost wished he had taken his time getting there, if only to prepare himself better. As it was, it was a short walk.

The door to the last room on the left was closed so Moody was forced to knock before entering, an act he had always found slightly offensive to his copious Auror training and the sheer paranoia that came with it. He waited for only a few moments before the door was opened.

Moody barely recognised Roland Lupin, senior member of the Mystifying Occurrences and Lawless Events team, as he answered the door.

He remembered Lupin as a tall, solid, relatively young man with hair and eyes of an unassuming brown. His reputation amongst the employees of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was promising. He was renowned for his vast general knowledge and had a good eye for spotting the unusual. Though he was infamous for his ability to remain rationally calm in even the direst of situations, it was joked that most didn't survive his temper when it reared its head. Moody hoped he wouldn't be on the receiving end of that today; it was the last thing he needed.

But that certainly wasn't the man who answered the door.

Gone was the serious Ministry worker with his freshly ironed robes and neat hair parting. In his place stood a man Moody truly struggled to identify. His eyes were sunken and shadowed, hair tousled and standing on end as if he had just rolled out of bed. He wore Muggle clothing: beige slacks and a woollen jumper that was twisted around his body like it had been hastily thrown on. The Auror's trained eyes picked up the blood crusted under his fingernails and on the barely visible collar of his shirt underneath.

This was not Roland Lupin as Moody knew him. This was someone else, some weary impostor who was frazzled and weak and clearly at the end of his emotional tether. The hardworking Ministry employee had been replaced by this man, this father, who, by the looks of things, hadn't slept at all since carrying his bleeding and dying child to the hospital.

Moody silently cursed once more. He hated this bloody werewolf.

Quickly re-gathering his thoughts, the Auror drew a steadying breath. This wasn't going to be the easiest interview for either participant.

"Sorry to disturb you, but I need you to answer some questions for me. Name's Alas –"

"I remember you, Moody. We have met before," Lupin interrupted, his tone flat and not necessarily friendly. Moody guessed he was going to see that rare temper after all.

The Auror held his ground. "Good, then there's no need for reintroductions. As I said, I need to ask some questions concerning the attack last night. If I could just come in…"

Lupin watched him, his face inscrutable. For a few moments, Moody thought the man was going to turn him away, before he abruptly stepped aside, silently permitting the Auror into the room.

Moody glanced at Lupin as he passed and breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever aggression there was in Lupin's eyes did not seem to be directed at him and the other man's arms were crossed defensively. Looking away, the Auror turned his attention to the room around him. It was small and rather gloomy; the panelled oak walls did little to reflect the dismal light that shone from the shining crystal bubbles clustered in the centre of the ceiling. The tiny window opposite him was closed against the still heavy rain and the blinds only half drawn.

There was a woman seated next to the hospital bed positioned in the centre of the room, but Moody hardly noticed her. His eyes were fixed on the small figure wrapped tightly beneath the sheets.

Remus Lupin looked smaller than his photo had depicted. His body was dwarfed by the bed and his outline beneath the covers was thin and tiny. The white sheets only reached to his waist but the Auror might not have noticed for the pale bandages bound around the boy's body; his waist and right shoulder were both wrapped tightly, his right arm trapped against his chest. A dark, ominous stain was slowly seeping across the fabric. His face was wan and clammy in sleep, sweat gathered at his brow and occasional tremors skittered across his expression. There was blood crusted in his sandy hair.

Moody noted the deep cuts across his face, his bruised jaw, and the wrappings that covered both hands. He nodded with grim satisfaction; at least the boy had fought back.

Behind him, Lupin shut the door noiselessly. He strode over to the bed and stood at its foot, gesturing to the woman in the chair. "My wife," he said shortly.

She was a thin, pretty woman, wearing a pale blue dress. She shared similar features with her son: sandy blonde-brown hair and fine bones. Her skin was as sunken and waxy as her husband's was and the sticky trails down her cheeks spoke of tears that had only recently passed.

Moody nodded his head politely towards her though she didn't as much as look up. He said nothing, aware there was no comfort he could offer her.

He tore his gaze away from where it had drifted, once more, to the child and looked back to Roland Lupin. The man stood still at the end of the bed, eyes fixed on his son. His hands clutched at the bed rail, seizing at it compulsively, gripping to it like a lifeline.

Lupin pulled his eyes up and met Moody's gaze. There was a challenge there, lurking beneath the anguish, a challenge that dared the Auror to speak, to question, to go about his sorry business as though the tiny, barely started life of this child before them hadn't been shaken, shredded and shattered beyond recognition then stuck back together at painful angles with _Spellotape_.

Moody had seen grieving parents before, far, far too many times. Unfortunately, that didn't mean he knew any better how to deal with such situations.

"Again, I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude. But as I said, there are some questions I need to ask you. I need to know what happened last night."

There was no response.

"Anything you can tell me may prove useful. Anything at all."

Lupin still didn't reply.

Moody sighed, irritation rising fast. He wasn't about to beg and plead with a man far too busy wallowing in his own misery to care about the lives of anyone beyond his family. Moody had always been a man of harsh actions and harsher words; 'going by the book' had never really worked for him.

"I want to be compassionate here, Lupin," he said, straightening up to meet the other man directly, boring into his face with eyes like agates, "I think you deserve that after what's happened. But I am telling you now, do not try my patience. Your son isn't the first victim of this werewolf's attack; he is merely the most recent. By all means grieve, but do it on your own bloody time, or so help me, the next child that's killed like this is on your hands."

Lupin was staring at him, his eyes unsure now. "There were… others?"

Moody snarled under his breath and opened the file in his hand. He found what he was looking for in a fold at the very back. He threw the photos across the bed at Lupin.

The taller man gazed at them and what colour was left drained from his face. There were children in the photographs; pale, ghastly, blood covered children. Limbs stuck out at odd angles. Gaping wounds stared back at him from chests and necks. Arms were missing. Bones were exposed. Young, sweet faces were twisted horribly and every single one of the children the corpses had been all but stank of death. Moody watched as Lupin bit back the bile that rose in his throat.

"One child for each of the three moons since December," Moody said, his voice deadly and dangerous, "Plus four others from the past two years suspected to be the victims of the same beast. That's seven in total, Lupin; seven children who will never see the age of ten; seven groups of parents who have had to bury their child.

"If you don't want to talk, fine, I can't make you. But I want you to look at those photos. Look at them and try to justify your unwillingness to help, because you and your son are both a hell of a lot better off then these families. Your son may have been hurt by this beast, changed even, but he at least is still alive. That gives you more hope than any of these other parents were given!"

Moody paused and looked away, expelling his breath heavily. He turned back to Lupin, fighting to keep his cool.

"Don't expect me to stand here and let you say or do nothing to help, because while there is still a chance to catch this monster, I am not going to stop trying. And I would have hoped, after what's been done to your son, you wouldn't either."

He paused, if only for dramatic effect.

"But hell, maybe I'm wrong."

Lupin was shaking. The photos slipped from his grasp and tumbled to the bed sheets as he jerked away. He stumbled to the window and leant against the glass, his shoulders shuddering.

Moody gathered the photos to him again and filed them carefully away. "Now tell me what happened last night."

But still, Roland Lupin did not respond.

* * *

The hospital room was still gloomy and dark. Rain was still drumming at the window. The tear in the side of her skirt was still there and fraying around the edges. But for all that was still the same, Elaine Lupin knew her world would never be as it was again.

She gently stoked the small hand in hers. He had such nice hands. Nimble, quick, he'd have beautiful penmanship when he got older. At barely four years old, he could already write his own name and had begun to experiment writing out other awkward but legible letters and numbers. She knew that once he was learning in school he'd pick all the rest up just as quickly.

If he ever got to go to school.

It was hard to remember that his tiny hand was bandaged and completely unresponsive to her touch. It was so easy to overlook the blood that was far too quickly seeping through the dressings bound around him. It was all too simple to just forget that after last night, Remus, _her_ Remus, might never even wake up again.

And now this man, this ugly, angry little man who had entered their hospital room, wanted to be told what had happened. How this had all happened. How her son had been attacked and bitten by a werewolf.

_Werewolf._ The word stung her mind at the very thought.

Elaine had accepted long ago, a day after that fateful summer noon when she was still Elaine Kelly and her young and dashing boyfriend had told her he was a wizard, that there were things in the world that she would never fully understand, things that she had been raised to believe didn't exist, but did. She had always taken for granted that because she wasn't magical, she wouldn't be harmed by the dangerous things that inhabited her husband's mystical world. She had even hoped in her ignorantly, desperate desire to keep him safe, that Remus wouldn't inherit his father's magic. And she had believed that he hadn't for three glorious years, before her tiny child 'charmed' a book to read to him while struck down by the chicken pox.

And now that stupid, magical, bloody mysterious, damn world was trying to shove its way back down her throat, and this time had hurt her son in the process.

Werewolves weren't supposed to exist. The traditionalist Catholic side of her upbringing screamed that fact at her over and over again. Yet, she had seen it with her own eyes, was there really any way she could deny that fact? Werewolves weren't supposed to exist, but then again, neither were wizards. The loving wife and mother side of her, which seemed to be the dominant side recently, told her to shut up talking to herself and just accept that they did.

Roland was still standing, silent, by the window, gazing broodingly out into the weather. The grouchy man, Moody, she remembered ironically, was talking to him again, trying to get him to see sense and cooperate. But she knew he wouldn't. Roland was far too proud and was all too aware whose fault it was that they were even in this situation.

Elaine Lupin knew her world would never be as it was again. She knew everything had changed now and she would no longer be able to hide in that exclusive little bubble of ignorance that had been her life for the past several years. Last night's events had quite successfully popped that bubble. So Elaine Lupin did what any logical, slightly grief-crazed mother would do when struck by a minor epiphany, and did what her husband could not.

She didn't even realise she was talking until Alastor Moody settled his hard gaze upon her.

_To be continued…_

* * *

_A/N: Alrighty, so that's done now. Remember (for those interested) this is only the first of a four-part prologue. I have the other three finished and edited, and will re-read them and re-edit them and start uploading... at some point. I don't know how frequently I'll update; I don't want to upload too fast and get ahead of my backlog of chapters (I have about eight or nine of the main story finished, but still, much work needs to be done). Maybe every couple of weeks; that seems fair._

_So, to conclude, please review! Tell me what you think, anything at all. Even if you don't like it, tell me so (and possibly tell me why so that maybe I can try and improve). If you are kind enough to review, I will try and get back to you (if I can figure out how; me + computer = fail) so ask all the questions you like, I'll answer all I can._

_Also, I seriously suck at coming up with chapter titles (as you can probably tell) so if you think of a better one than what I currently have, please tell me it. If I like it, I'll change it (and give you credit, lucky you!) This request will probably be a recurring thing as there are very few chapter titles I have that I am genuinely happy with._

_In the mean time; thank you, and good night._

Re-edited and updated: 01.04.11


	2. Part II: The Full Moon

_A/N: Hey hey! So, I'm back, and with Part Deux. I don't really have anything new to add so I'll just jump right in, I guess._

_Oh, I do want to give a shout out to MickeyLeek, my first EVER reviewer. Hi! And thank you. As per your request, I have uploaded somewhat sooner than I had planned._

_So, here we go again._

_

* * *

_

**Of Wolf and Man**

**Prologue**

**Part II**

The Full Moon

_In which the mother of our main protagonist recounts the horrific events of the previous night and new hope is given to the pursuit of the attacker._

The sun had long since set and night had come, cool and crisp beyond the windowpanes. A fire cackled away in the room beyond and filled Elaine Lupin with soothing warmth as she stood, washing dishes in her kitchen surrounded by flickering candles. She enjoyed these moments, the familial comfort in letting her hands soak in the warm dishwater, listening as her husband described his day over a late dinner and her young son coloured with whispering crayons.

Roland came and stood next to her, bumping her shoulder with his as he lowered his plate into the water. He glanced meaningfully at their son where he sat at the table with his sandy head bent over a book, colouring with a careful and precise hand.

"What's the boy doing up, then?" he muttered in her ear. She could hear the sarcastic lilt of amusement in his voice. He knew full well she couldn't say no to Remus, a fact the small boy exploited far too well for a child of four.

She glared half-heartedly at her husband. "I put him to bed hours ago, but he couldn't sleep. This way, hopefully he'll exhaust himself." Elaine then busied herself with the rest of the dishes, trying and failing to look as though she wasn't a complete pushover when it came to her son. "And besides, he worries about you when you're working late."

"I'm sure."

Touching a hand affectionately to her back, he returned to the living area. He moved to the liquor cabinet in the corner where he poured himself a few generous fingers of scotch into what Elaine had dubbed his 'I've-had-a-long-day-so-I-deserve-a-drink' glass.

Tittering to herself, she took the seat next to Remus. The boy looked up at her with the large, warm, blue eyes she knew came from Roland's father. "Bedtime, sweetie," she ordered, brushing strands of fair hair from his face.

"But I'm nearly finished," he said, smiling hugely, the dimple in his left cheek flashing in a way he knew she couldn't normally resist.

Elaine chuckled again. "No, Remus. It's very late already. Now pack up your things; the picture will still be here in the morning."

The small boy sighed but did as he was told, looking exaggeratedly sullen. Elaine stroked a hand through his hair again. "Tell you what; if you clean up quickly and get back to bed, I'll read you some more about Pooh Bear and the others."

The effect was immediate. A wide smile sprang across his face and his crayons quickly vanished into a small, neat corner of the kitchen.

Elaine wandered down the hallway to her son's bedroom, straightening his rumpled bed sheets and picking through his ever-expanding book collection for A.A. Milne. She could hear the sounds of Remus biding his father goodnight in the living room, giggling at something her husband said. She smiled fondly.

Then the house was full with the sound of shattering glass and Remus screaming.

With her heart in her throat, she barrelled down hallway and burst out into the living room. Roland stood near her, at the back of the room, their small son clutched, terrified to his chest. Across the room from them, standing over the ruins of the dining table and surrounded by the shattered glass of the kitchen window stood a creature she had only ever seen in her nightmares.

It stood as high as her shoulder, a huge frothing creature, all grey, shaggy fur and gaping jowls. From its fangs hung thick threads of slaver that quivered with each exhale and its breath that Elaine could smell from across the space between them, stank rank in the night air. Long claws flexed on huge paws scraping splinters in the floorboards. Massive muscles bunched in the shoulders of the beast as golden eyes surveyed, all too coolly, its adversaries.

Elaine knew without being told – without peering out the window and finding the full moon – that she was in the presence of a werewolf.

After that moment, there wasn't much time for her to think.

Roland went directly to her, walking backwards with his eyes focused firmly on the wolf, and passed Remus into her arms. The small boy whimpered and clung to her as she gathered him close to her breast, clinging to him just as hard.

When Roland spoke, his voice was flat and eerily calm; she could barely hear his whispered instructions. "Elaine, I'm going to distract it, lead it outside," he said, his eyes never straying from his foe. "You need to take Remus and get to the fireplace. Do you remember how to use floo powder?"

She could barely squeak out an affirmative.

"Good. Keep the boy with you and floo to the Ministry of Magic and tell the first person you can find that there is a werewolf here. They'll know what to do from there."

"Roland, what about you? I can't leave you here."

The wolf's fur was bristling, lips curling back into an animal sneer, a deep, rumbling growl rolling out of its throat like thunder.

"You can, and you will," he said firmly, still looking away. His wand was in his hand now, fire blazing in his eyes. "Don't worry about me. Now, to the fireplace, go!"

Before she could move, the wolf pounced. As though understanding her husband's plan it sprang not at them, but at the fireplace, blocking her planned escape route.

Roland pushed her away from the beast and towards the back door. "You have to run, Elaine, get as far from here as you can. Go _now_!" With a sob, Elaine turned from her husband and started towards the door.

And again, the wolf pounced. Elaine screamed as it flew at her, turning her body away in an effort to shelter her son. Suddenly the beast was sent flying off to the side, stuck in midair by a jet of blinding red light. Then Roland was beside her, jerking the door open, shoving her out into the night and following after.

"Go Elaine, _run_!" His last words were garbled as the wolf leapt out the door at him, all teeth and claws and seething muscle.

But Elaine didn't run. She stumbled backwards, pulling Remus with her, away from the fight where growls and snarls rose in a frightening crescendo with curses and spells and flashes of light that erupted from Roland and the wand in his fist.

She was barely into the shadows beyond the house lights when she decided what she must do. Adrenaline and panic fuelled her every thought and action, pumping through her ears so loud and painful she had no clear idea what exactly she was planning. She lowered Remus to the ground and looked at her son, finding his huge, blue eyes and holding his face between her hands. He was so small and so frightened, tears standing unshod in widened eyes.

"Remus, honey, you need to listen to me now, ok?" she said, trying with all her might to keep her voice from shaking. In her periphery, she could see the wolf jump and slash at her husband as he fell backwards out of its reach. "I need you to run away and keep running no matter what. Follow the road and don't look back. Can you do that?" Remus's lower lip quivered fearfully but he nodded and lifted his chin with the closest thing to bravado that a four-year-old could pull off.

Elaine glanced back to the fight still waging by the house. The huge grey beast was wearing Roland down. It leapt and him, claws and teeth slashing and snapping, and all the wizard could do was feign out of its path desperately, growing slower with each attack. The quarters the wolf was keeping were too close and Roland couldn't land a single spell to defend himself. She turned back to Remus.

"Now go, Remus. Go." She drew him to her fiercely, kissing him hard on his brow and threading her fingers through his sandy hair. "I love you," she whispered desperately to him, knowing it was only a matter of time before the beast finally got the upper hand over her husband.

But that matter of time turned out to be only a few seconds.

Elaine stood aghast as Roland crumbled to the ground. A strangled cry broke his lips as he clutched at his arm, blood splattering briefly and welling between his fingers. The wolf stood over him and slapped away his wand in a manner far too human.

Then it turned to her.

She watched its nostrils twitch and flare and its jowls quiver as if in anticipation. Beneath its feet, Roland shook and struggled, but the wolf shoved him back to the earth with one enormous paw. While its eyes were still on her, Elaine thrust Remus away with a shrill cry breaking her lips.

"Remus, _run_!"

And as he ran, so too did the wolf. Coming straight towards her, Elaine braced herself, waiting for teeth and claws to shred at her, prepared to die where she stood if only to give Remus time to get away. But the teeth and claws never came.

The wolf barrelled into her, merely a flimsy obstacle in its path. She fell to the ground, churned under its feet and lay winded in its wake. It was only then when she realised her grave mistake in pushing Remus away. She looked up, blinking nearly blind in the dark and could only watch in horror as the wolf fell upon her son.

Remus cried out once as the wolf threw itself onto his back, a grey figure in the dark, knocking the boy forwards as they both tumbled over the ground. The boy scrambled around desperately, flopping onto his back as the wolf bore down on him once more. In a fit of desperate rage, Remus started screaming. His fists flew at the animals face as he punched and scratched and fought with all he had to absolutely no effect. The wolf raised a paw and hit him across the face, again in a manner far too human. The small boy tumbled to his side and Elaine saw blood glitter on the animal's claws.

His screams died to whimpers before he went shockingly silent as the werewolf sunk its teeth into his side. Then, with a toss of its head, the werewolf sent Remus flying. It leapt after him as a dog would a play toy.

The boy lay still and soundless as the wolf stood over him and, with a sickening sound, sunk its teeth in again, this time around his shoulder. Straddling him, it thrashed its head from side to side, Remus's limp little body flailing beneath it.

And Elaine could do nothing but watch as her son died.

Then Roland was there. He ran towards the creature, hurling curse after curse at it, oblivious to the heavy flow of blood that ran down his arm. The werewolf released Remus with a final shake of its head and bared its bloody teeth at Roland. A burst of white light hit it full in the face and it fell away, whimpering pitifully as painful sores rose on its skin. It stood again and seemed to look over the family briefly before turning tail and vanishing into the night.

Elaine stared after it and felt herself calm for a moment before remembering her son.

Roland was already by his side, his wand moving over the tiny, motionless body whispering soft spells. As his wife finally gained her feet, her breath still strangled and winded, Roland gingerly lifted the body of their son into his arms. He wasted no time. With a look that conveyed all the direness of their situation, he ran back towards their house and Elaine followed.

She watched, appalled and somehow awed at the amount of blood gathering at her husband's feet as he stood before their fireplace. With one sticky hand, he drew a handful of fine powder out of a jar on their mantle and threw it into the lapping flames that immediately turned brilliant green. Stepping into them, he called out with a voice that was shaking with fright, "St Mungo's!"

Then he was gone.

Elaine stared after him, and stood for a few moments, shaking. Her mind hummed and buzzed and throbbed with pain as she struggled to order her thoughts into some semblance of understanding.

She shook her head once and breathed in deeply, pushing every thought save the ones of her small son to the back corners of her mind. With shaking hands, she grabbed Roland's jersey off the back of a lounge chair then a pinch of powder from the jar. Repeating her husband's earlier actions, she too vanished in a whir of emerald flames and the house was left quiet, still and empty.

* * *

Moody couldn't help but stare at Elaine Lupin. He had to admit, he had definitely underestimated this slight, pale woman. She certainly didn't look like she had the kind of strength necessary to do what she had just done, to describe to him in such vivid detail everything that had happened to her small family the night before. Her voice was strained, tense with suppressed emotion and the whole time her eyes never strayed from her son's face. Yet not once did she falter or stop or hesitate for even a moment.

It had been a good long while since Alastor Moody had been this impressed.

When she finally finished, she let out a rather long breath and sagged in her chair looking rightfully exhausted. Ignoring the prickles of guilt in his chest, Moody took a breath himself to prepare for what he knew would be a rather difficult conversation.

"Right," he began. "Well, thank you for that, Mrs Lupin. I just have some things I need to ask."

From the other side of the bed, the woman nodded numbly.

"You, ah…" Moody looked at Roland Lupin who was still standing at the window, staring out it as though he wanted no part in any of this. "You said that your husband was injured in the fight?"

"He was," she replied, still not looking at either of the men in the room. "The werewolf scratched him across the arm but the doctors, sorry, _Healers_, cleaned and fixed it after they took Remus away. We had plenty of time while we waited."

"Alright," Moody said. "So there was no lasting damage?"

She shook her head.

"Can you remember around what time the attack happened?"

Elaine looked up him, a vaguely incredulous expression rising on her face. "Around nine, maybe. I'm not entirely sure. I didn't think to stop and check the time at that exact moment.

Moody coughed. "Point taken," he muttered. "Now, you said that the werewolf seemed focused mainly on your son?"

Again, she nodded.

"You think its only intent was to hurt him? It never showed the same kind of interest in you or your husband?"

Elaine sighed. "It only attacked Roland because he engaged it," she said slowly, as though trying to explain the alphabet to a particularly thick child. "And it went after me because I was in the way. It was certainly only interested in Remus. He was the only one it bit, wasn't he?" There was more than just a trace of bitterness in her voice.

Moody stared down at his jotter where he had been taking notes for the past quarter hour of this interview. For a few moments, he refrained from asking the final question squeezed in at the bottom of the page. The most important question, the one he desperately hoped may at last give him the lead he needed to catch whoever was behind these attacks.

Finally, he gritted his teeth and looked steadily at Elaine Lupin who sat with her fair head bowed and her thumb stroking her son's bandaged hand.

"Mrs Lupin," he asked, as softly as he could manage. "Do you know why this werewolf came after your family?"

But this time, Elaine Lupin didn't respond. She didn't even blink.

Alastor swore silently and violently to himself.

He was so bloody close to finding out who was behind all these attacks, he could practically taste it. Of course, he had ideas and theories explaining everything, suspects even, but nothing solid, no real proof. And sitting before him was a woman he was sure could tell him everything he so desperately needed to know. It frustrated him to no end to have that knowledge so near but yet no means of extracting it save some very dodgy methods of persuasion he knew the Ministry would frown upon.

Suddenly, another voice filled the room.

"I've made a lot of enemies during my time at the Ministry," Roland Lupin said plainly, still gazing out into the rain-blurred distance beyond the window. "It's a hazard involved in my line of work, something I'm sure you can understand, Moody."

The Auror stared in shock at the man and berated himself for being so surprised by this sudden change of attitude. He noticed Elaine lift her face and turn to look at her husband for the first time.

"A few weeks ago I took a case involving a werewolf," Lupin continued. "A group of wealthy wizards, this werewolf included, had been found involved in some fairly crooked dealings. Illegal trading, that sort of thing. It was my job to find out exactly what they had been doing and make sure they were caught red-handed.

"When the Magical Law Enforcement finally moved in, only a few of them were arrested. Some escaped, but most of the others managed to conjure up alibis from nowhere. This werewolf was one of them. He had friends in high places, extremely wealthy and influential members of the Ministry who spoke up for him and kept him out of trouble."

Lupin hesitated for a moment and Moody's breath caught in his throat before the other man continued. "I… We both knew he was guilty and that the sole reason he got off was because of the sway his friends had, so I gave him a warning. I told him to tread lightly because the next time he got involved in something like that, I'd personally see him carted off to Azkaban." He paused again, a grimace appearing on his features. "I insulted him; I called him scum, a monster. And he… he didn't like that.

"He told me that a man like me should be careful, that someone with such a precious and young family should watch what he says around people that could cause that family pain. He knew where we lived, what my wife and son looked like. He knew that Elaine is a muggle, that Remus…" He faltered and cast a quick eye to the hospital bed that bore his son. "The things he said about Remus… they were… He said he liked the look of him, that children always tasted the sweetest.

"I told him to go to hell and stay away from my family. I never thought…" There were suddenly tears in Lupin's eyes and Moody looked away, uncomfortable.

"I never thought this would happen," Roland finished, his voice dying to a strained whisper.

Moody looked at him again and saw heavy tears fall down the other man's face. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be able to leave the room and the family within it in peace, for both their sakes and his. But he knew he couldn't yet.

He took a breath, and let it out slowly.

"Who was this werewolf?" Moody asked finally.

Roland Lupin looked at him with wet eyes. Moody held his breath once more, waiting and desperately hoping for the answer that he was sure he knew was coming. Finally, in a voice that shook with too many emotions to clearly distinguish between them, Lupin spoke.

"Fenrir Greyback."

_To be continued…_

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_A/N: Well, there you have it, part 2. The attack scene itself was tough for me to get right; I've rewritten it about four or five times in the last few years, every time it always felt too contrived. There is still a certain element of that to it now, but I'm happier with this version than I was with any of the others._

_So, I hope you enjoyed it. I should upload again in a few weeks, we'll see how it goes. I'm coming towards end of semester exams so I should probably try and focus on studying and whatnot right now, 'should' being the operative word. All I have left to say is: Please review! And remember, if you can think of any chapter titles better that what I currently have (for either chapter), please tell me them. I seriously suck at titles._

_Until next time, adios!_


	3. Part III: Blood and Cherry Blossoms

_A/N: Hola, mis amigos! Here is Part Tres of my long-winded prologue. Only one more to go after this. I meant to upload this a bit earlier than I have, but the uni semester has just ended and I'm in the middle of final exams, which are always fun. Also, I made the mistake of taking a Creative Writing course this semester which I had to complete a final portfolio for and has single-handedly killed all confidence I have in my writing. I'm pretty sure I'm a worse writer for doing it but... oh well. Good thing all I had to do for this chapter was a bit of tweaking and final editing._

_So, without any more ado, I present Part Three. Hope you enjoy._

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**Of Wolf and Man**

**Prologue**

**Part III**

Blood and Cherry Blossoms

_In which our current hero investigates the main suspect of the crime and the crime-scene itself and decides on a plan of action for dealing with the culprit._

The world beyond the windows was grey and blurred as rain fell in steady streams from the dark clouds above. Alastor Moody sat, silently, at a small bench in the corner of the large, white-walled room that was the St Mungo's cafeteria. The expanse of the tabletop before him lay littered with paper, case files, photos, criminal records, autopsy reports and scraps from a notepad all covered in the scratching scrawl of his handwriting.

Gripped in his gnarled and weathered hand was a photograph. Though it wasn't old, it was black and white and worn at the corners. Moody watched as the small boy in the shot read from a large book propped up on his knees before he lifted his face and smiled at the camera. He had a dimple in his left cheek that flashed as he grinned.

Alastor Moody had always prided himself on being a sensible man. In his line of work, he knew that it was dangerous to become too attached to cases. Emotional involvement causes distractions and distractions lead to mistakes, sometimes fatal ones. Yet despite the mantra that swam around his head, whispering to him, 'Don't get involved, remain distant, you are an Auror and can't afford blunders', he couldn't shift the growing feelings of fury that rose in his belly as he gazed at the photo of Remus Lupin in his hand.

It was strange how this case had affected him. He wasn't, by far, a sentimental person. He had no children of his own so there was no way to empathise, no reason for the desperate desire he had to protect the small boy from anymore harm. Yet, that was certainly how Moody felt. He wasn't used to it at all, feeling so concerned and sensitive and so damn incensed by everything that had happened; about the fact that someone, some_thing,_ was attacking, killing right under his nose was and somehow getting away with it. He could only hope that this would be the last time.

The Auror carefully lay the photo down on the table and picked up his jotter. Scowling slightly he flicked his way through the notes he had made not long ago as Elaine Lupin described to him the attack that had taken place the previous night. He was sure the werewolf behind it was the same responsible for the deaths of seven other children over the past few years. Everything fit. The time frame around which the assault took place, the description of the creature, the terrifying calm with which the werewolf handled itself and its intense focus on the child it intended as its victim.

Moody thought back to what Allan Brody had said to him at the Auror Headquarters only an hour or so ago. He had been sure that Remus Lupin's survival had been a mistake, an error on the part of the werewolf in question.

Alastor wasn't so sure anymore.

Moody had spoken with Lupin's Healer not long after he concluded his interview with the boy's parents. The wizard, an expert at treating lycanthropic related injuries, had said he had never seen a werewolf bite quite like this. It was vicious and certainly maiming but the wild savagery of normal werewolf attacks wasn't present.

"In any other case, I would have expected the boy to lose his arm," the Healer had said. "But as it is, the flesh wasn't as torn as I'd normally expect and so long as he sticks to his potions regime, he should be able to use it again fully within a few years."

Moody released a twisted little chuckle as he remembered what the Healer had said next. 'Lucky' he had called Lupin; lucky because he wouldn't lose his arm. While he understood where the Healer was coming from, Moody would never have thought to associate the word 'lucky' with a four-year-old boy now cursed with lycanthropy.

Regardless of how Moody viewed the Healer's opinions of Remus Lupin, the simple fact was that he was sure the attack had not been meant to kill the child. It was certainly well within the werewolf's ability to do so, that fact had been proven more than once now. The Auror quickly flicked back to his notes of the other cases. Autopsy reports proved that the three most recent victims from the past three moons had, in fact, died from blood loss. The wounds had been serious, but similar to this case, the bites themselves were less savage, enough so for the children to have survived them. Time had been the real killer.

Which begged the question: why did this werewolf want these children to live? And, perhaps even more worrying, how had it managed it?

Moody leant back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling as his mind dug franticly through all the knowledge of lycanthropes he possessed. He knew enough to know that a werewolf that acted with even the slightest amount of rational was something to fear.

Werewolves were killers, plain and simple. They did not distinguish between friend and foe; during the full moon, to them, all living things were potential prey. They were renowned for being one the most fearsome beasts to inhabit the wizarding world, an opinion often felt about them even when in their human form. The fact that this werewolf had the self-control to all but completely ignore Remus Lupin's parents; that its primary focus had been the small boy and nothing had been able to distract it from that goal, was almost unheard of and more than slightly worrying to Moody.

There had been cases like this before, though very few of them. Instances when a human had bonded with its wolfish counterpart leaving behind a strange cross between the two. The result was a man that took on the characteristics of a wolf, its savagery and animalistic qualities, and a monster that, when transformed, retained some of the logic of a human, some of the intelligence and calm normally missing from its character. All those inflicted with the curse acquired certain wolfish traits, but not to such an extent. And it scared all hell out of the Auror.

Moody picked up a quill and quickly scribbled these ideas down before flicking the page over to the last note he had made. The name Fenrir Greyback stared back at him.

Leaning forward again in his seat, Moody rummaged through the papers littering the table, finding the file he was searching for perched precariously on the far side to him.

Greyback was not the sort of name one threw about lightly. His friendship with Abraxas Malfoy had surmounted his status in the wizarding world and his reputation for malice and cruelty preceded him, substantially. Very few people knew the whole truth behind his past. Moody considered himself fortunate to be one of those few. Fortunate he at least had some forewarning of what the man was capable of.

Fenrir Greyback had been born in Austria to wealthy, magical, if somewhat disreputable parents. Little was known of his childhood, though what was, said that he had lived a fairly privileged, though ordinary life. That knowledge was common enough and all that most people knew. It wasn't the whole story, however.

At the age of sixteen during a summer stint in the forest beyond his house, a werewolf attacked the young man. Though he escaped with his life, he suffered a bite to his shoulder that permanently cursed him with lycanthropy. Upon learning this information and when coupled with his new and violent tendencies, Fenrir had been rather unceremoniously expelled from his wizarding school.

He had remained living in Austria, fending for himself, haunting the same woods in which he had been bitten. However, sometime during the Grindelwald campaign of the 1940's, Greyback, along with most of his kind, were oppressed and finally driven from the country. It was then that he fled to Britain where he lived, wild and savage, biting and maiming whoever was ill-fated enough to stumble upon him. Sheer dumb luck on Fenrir's part was all that had kept the authorities from catching him.

It was surmised that around then, after years of living feral in the forests of England, that Abraxas Malfoy, a young man of similar standing and upbringing, came across him and decided to take the uncivilised lycanthrope under his wing. He tidied the werewolf up, taught him English and common manners, and supplied enough money to integrate him into society, allowing him the opportunity to make the right kind of 'wrong' friends.

It was only because of a freak accident that the Ministry found out about Greyback's lycanthropy.

Despite Malfoy's attempts to civilize him, years of living wild and savage had imprinted too much of the wolf's character onto Fenrir's own. He became infamous for his short temper, and those that crossed him had a nasty habit of getting into serious, unexplainable accidents.

On one such occasion, Greyback's notorious luck ran out. A disturbance was reported in an alleyway near the house where Fenrir had been residing and the Ministry sent a team to investigate. Magical Law Enforcement agents arrived in time to find the large lycanthrope standing over the bleeding ruins of another man. Caught literally red handed, he had been hauled in for questioning and eventual sentencing. It was as he was being dragged through the entrance of the Ministry of Magic that several different magical wards and protective spells alerted the officers to the fact that they had not only apprehended a dangerous and violent man, but also had an unregistered and evidently savage werewolf on their hands.

Before the sun rose the next morning, Fenrir Greyback had been convicted and sent to Azkaban for life for the unlawful assault of a wizard and for residing in a civilised community without registration.

Abraxas Malfoy, however, held far too much sway with important members of the Ministry for the charges to stick. Greyback was released on bail after only four years. He also handed around enough galleons to buy silence concerning Fenrir's lycanthropy.

That had been six years ago.

Since then, Greyback had lived a much more quiet life. He seemed to no longer socially associate with the Malfoys, though Moody wasn't so convinced. For the most part, he kept to himself and the group of non-descript friends he had gathered. Nothing more was heard of Fenrir Greyback until only a few months ago.

The first case involving the child victim of a werewolf attack had been handled calmly by the Werewolf Capture Unit and thought to be only a tragic accident. The second was dealt with the same way. By the third attack, nine months since the first, investigators began to get suspicious. When, after another seven months, a fourth attack was reported, the WCU decided to bring in outside help to try and see if there were any dots to connect between the incidents.

It was then that Moody had been put on the job.

He spent months going over notes and files, re-interviewing the family and friends of the victims, researching and studying everything related to werewolves. When finally, after three months of dead ends and an ever-growing list of questions, another child was attacked and killed, Moody got his first lead.

The name Fenrir Greyback came up, almost incidentally, during an interview with the mother of the seven-year-old girl who had been killed that moon. A chance meeting with him was all it was. Few words were exchanged, though nothing to give the werewolf significant motive. Digging deeper into the previous four cases, the same name cropped up again and again. It was too much of a coincidence for even the most uncertain to ignore. When Alastor approached Greyback about the murders, the werewolf merely sneered at the accusations and pulled some very convenient alibis out from up his sleeve. Moody was with left with nothing more substantial than his own convictions.

The same happened next month when a nine-year-old boy went missing and was found two days later, mauled and dead, the victim of a lycanthrope attack. Again, Greyback's name came up, yet handy witnesses assured Moody the werewolf had been elsewhere during the full moon.

And finally, thirty-one days previously, on the 27th of February, a girl, age six, was attacked in her bed by a werewolf and died on the way to St Mungo's hospital.

For several brief, shining moments when Moody tracked Greyback down the next morning, he was sure they had finally caught him. The friend who Fenrir swore had been watching over him as he remained safely locked in his cellar, had in fact been arrested the previous night after being found in a rather compromising position with several sheep.

However, just as Moody was beginning to see an end to the carnage that had been his job for the past half year, another witness appeared.

Once again, Abraxas Malfoy stepped forward to save Fenrir's skin, owning up to having watched over his old friend during the night's difficult transformation. Afraid to be known as a friendly associate of Greyback's, Malfoy claimed to have asked him to lie, saying that another friend had been looking after him. Alastor knew, as did almost every other member of the Werewolf Capture Unit involved in the case, that both men were lying through their teeth, yet nothing could be done. Abraxas was too powerful, and with such a solid alibi, Greyback could not be held accountable.

And again, Moody had been thrown back to square one with no real suspects and no proper leads.

Until now.

As twisted as the thought was, the attack of Remus Lupin had offered a fortunate break in the case. His father's encounter with Greyback provided a concrete motive, one backed by the official Ministry report of the encounter that Lupin had filed. All that was needed to finally convict the werewolf in question was evidence from the crime-scene or from the assailant himself. And Alastor was sure both could be obtained.

With a feverish energy, he gathered the papers and files from the table and vanished them with a flick of his wand. After finally managing to shove both of his arms into their corresponding sleeves, he set off quickly from the cafeteria, nearly bowling over a grizzled old lady hobbling into the room clad in a puffy, pink dressing gown.

Moody wondered, as he hurried through the corridor and down the stairs leading to the reception area, what was awaiting him at the crime-scene to which he was heading. He was still pondering that as he stepped into the floo exit. With a clear voice that belied the feelings of anticipation blazing through his veins like fire, he said "Lupins' residence, Ministry access!" and vanished in a flash of green flames.

* * *

The wind was cool and filled with the smell of fresh grass and clean air as Alastor Moody materialised in a flurry of fire in the middle of the Lupins' front lawn. It was a calming scent and suited the comfortable and usually quiet dwelling well. However, it was far from quiet when Moody found it. As he stepped out of the fire pit – the temporary floo-access for the crime-scene – he couldn't help but marvel for a few moments at the busy buzz that filled the air around him. He stood for a few moments, emerald flames lapping at his heels, watching as men and women milled about him, most taking notes in small jotter pads much like the one stowed away in his front pocket, others standing to the side, deep in discussion. There had to be twenty of them, at least.

It seemed the Werewolf Capture Unit had pulled out all the stops for this case.

Moody looked around the crime-scene, trying to take in everything he could. The Lupins' home was a moderately sized house surrounded on all sides by a neatly trimmed lawn, a small paved path leading from the front door to a short fence and the road beyond. The Auror remembered gratefully that the file on the Lupins said there were no neighbours nearby, a good thing as they wouldn't have to _obliviate_ any muggles who heard or saw what had happened. He also noted with a grin, that the rain hadn't reached this far. All the evidence they needed should still be here.

As he pulled out his own notes, Moody noticed a man hurrying towards him from the other side of the lawn. The Auror recognised him as the head of the Werewolf Capture Unit. He was an elderly man, his hair faded to a mousy grey-brown that made his pale face strangely monochromatic. Some of the robust figure he used to carry could still be seen in the width of his shoulders, though he was of an unimposing height, a good three inches shorter than Moody himself.

"Alastor," the man greeted him, griping his hand firmly in both of his own. "I'm glad to see you here. Have you spoken with the victim's parents?"

Always straight to the point, was Octavius Hume.

Moody merely grunted back his affirmative. "I've just come from St Mungo's. I'll tell you what I found out later; first you tell me what you think happened here."

The man, Hume, nodded, and set off across the lawn with Moody in tow.

"The wolf got in over here, not hard for something that size to climb over," he said, pointing towards the fence at the back of the section that barely reached to Moody's elbow. "We can't be sure, but Caldwell, one of my juniors, found a set of human tracks around two miles east leading into a crop of trees. Only animal tracks led out. We think that's where he went to transform, it's far enough away to be out of earshot."

Moody nodded as the older man talked, noting down what he was saying.

Hume then led him back across the garden. Alastor noticed a slight limp the other man's step he was sure hadn't been there before. "The wolf broke in through the kitchen window; jumped clean through," Hume informed him, nodding his head through the back door. Moody glanced around him to see for himself.

The kitchen was a wreck. The large window that stood over the sink had exploded inwards, glass shards peppering the ground and bench tops. The kitchen table had split down the middle, two of its legs broken to pieces, chairs all knocked over. There was blood drying on the floor in front of the fireplace.

"Looks like the family ran outside. There was certainly a fight of some kind here," Hume continued, now indicating to the lawn just beyond the back door, "Tracks on the ground and blood splatters confirm that. There isn't enough blood for it to have been the bite but someone engaged the wolf here. The tracks then lead away, up the side of the house and towards the road." He pointed away around the other side of the house and they set off again.

Hume cast Moody a quick look just before they turned the corner around the house, his eyes small and shrewd beneath his furrowed brow. "This is where the bite took place," he said. "It, er… well, I thought it best to warn you."

Alastor stepped past the other man and looked around him. This side of the house was bordered by cherry trees along the fence, their spring blossoms falling and carpeting the ground in white and soft pink. It looked almost like snow. It was impossible to miss, however, the thick smears of blood spread across the fallen flowers.

Moody couldn't help but stare at the scene facing him. The blood seemed to be everywhere, splattered across the entire lawn, tainting every single one of the small, white blossoms red. Deep within his chest, the fury rose again and he longed for something to smash, something to hurt, preferably the werewolf who had spilled this blood.

Octavius Hume, now standing beside him, peered curiously into the Auror's face. "I've heard…" He stopped and cast a sceptical look around them."I've heard the victim survived," he said, the scepticism apparent in his voice. "Brody sent word –"

"Yes, he did survive. He's at St Mungo's now," Moody said, shortly. "And his name's Remus Lupin, not 'the victim'." He wrenched his eyes back to Hume. "Alright, what happened next?"

For a few moments, the WCU Head merely blinked, before clearing his throat, looking affronted. "Something chased the wolf off, one of the parents I'd say. They picked the… er… _Remus_ up and carried him inside, where they floo-ed out."

Moody nodded again, slapping his notepad closed and stuffing it away. "Good. That fits with the account I got from the mother."

He turned towards a group of young men, new recruits most likely, all of whom jumped when he spoke. "You lot, go over this area again. The wolf was hurt and there should be some physical trace of it left in amongst all of… that. Make sure you find it."

The men all stared at him, shell-shocked.

"Now, you idiots! Get to it!"

They did just that.

Moody turned away and set back across the lawn. Hume stumbled along in his wake.

"Now, see here Alastor. I appreciate your help, but _I_ am running this case," he said as he limped alongside the Auror.

Moody laughed and continued walking. "You had nothing on this case before I was brought on. You're a popular figurehead, little more."

Hume's eyes widened, his nostrils flared like an enraged bull. "How dare you," he gasped, with every step becoming more agitated. "I do not appreciate you ordering my workers around like that. Nor do I allow those beneath me to speak to me in such ways."

Moody stopped dead and turned towards the old man who seemed to shrink even further under his hard, dark gaze.

"You're a careerist, Hume; you've always been more obsessed with bettering your own reputation than you have been with catching werewolves. I am all but positive that Fenrir Greyback is behind this. We have a chance to stop him, and I am going to take it. So shut up, let your men do their work and follow my lead because you have no idea how to handle this situation."

Hume looked at him weakly. "Greyback?" he asked, his voice quivering. "No, we've looked into him before and he always had alibis."

"Yes, well, thanks to Roland Lupin, we now have a solid motive," Moody said, calming slightly. "And, once your new recruits pull their thumbs out of their arses and work out how to do their jobs, we'll also have physical evidence that he was here last night."

"Physical evidence? How?"

"Lupin caught him with a v_omico_ curse. Werewolf or not, that should have cut him in some way, meaning his blood will be in there somewhere amongst Remus Lupin's."

Hume stared at him again, lost for words. "So, what are you planning on doing now?" he finally asked.

Moody looked back at the old man whose face seemed even more sallow than before.

"I'm going after Greyback."

Octavius could only watch as the Auror walked away. He blinked hard several times before hurrying after him again.

"How do you plan to do that? There is paperwork to be done before such an arrest can be made. You need to wait for permission, some sort of solid proof." Hume was all but spluttering with shock. "You cannot possibly be planning on barging, alone, into his house, shouting for his arrest."

Moody finally stopped again, just short of the floo-fire, and looked out over the WCU workers milling about the Lupins' residence. He cast a quick, somewhat amused eye over Hume.

"Oh, I'm not planning on going alone."

He pulled out his wand and pointed it directly at his throat.

"Listen up!" he bellowed, his voice booming, magically, across the entire premises. The WCU workers all ceased in an instant. "I'm looking for volunteers to go with me to apprehend Fenrir Greyback, the prime suspect in this case. Anyone willing, come to me now.

"You lot stay doing what you were," he shouted at the group of young men he had put to work finding Greyback's blood. "You find something, secure it, record it and wait for me to come get it." They all sullenly went back to their jobs as Moody lowered his wand.

He then turned to look over his group of volunteers. There were only a handful of them;Greyback's reputation was certainly enough to intimidate anyone. But anyone was better than going in alone.

"Alright, I'm expecting you all to look out for yourselves here. I can't be watching your backs every step of the way, so if you don't think you're up to this, back out now."

None of them budged. A young man with fair hair went so far as to thrust his chin out stubbornly and clutched his wand tighter in his fist.

Moody smiled, grimly. "Good then. You," he said, pointing to the blond man. "What's your name?"

He swallowed. "It's Caldwell, sir. Adrian Caldwell."

Alastor recognized his name from before. "You any good?" he asked.

To his credit, Caldwell hesitated for only a moment for answering. "I… yes, I am, sir. I'm one of the best in my team in the Werewolf Capture Unit, I achieved top marks in my Defence Against the Dark Arts NEWT's and I plan to enter the Auror training program once I work up enough money to support myself through it." He thrust his chin forward again as if daring Moody to doubt his abilities.

The Auror merely laughed under his breath. "Good. You're in charge of this lot," he said, nodding towards the rest of the volunteers. "They follow your lead and you follow mine. You screw up and they get hurt. Got it?"

Caldwell swallowed hard, but nodded.

Moody turned back to the rest of the WCU workers and raised his wand to his throat once more. "The rest of you are to help find any evidence you can. If you don't want to assist, go home and we'll deal with you later." None of them were stupid enough to leave. They all jumped straight to work.

Finally, Alastor turned to Octavius Hume who stood, mouth gaping like a goldfish. The Auror watched him for a few moments, enjoying the look of horror evident on the other man's face. After all, moments like this were rare, and Moody had never been fond of Hume.

Finally, he spoke. "So, are you coming with us, or are you staying?" he asked, unable to help the sneer that spread across his face.

Hume blinked once, hugely, and said in a very small voice, "I'll go with you."

Moody grinned outright. "Alright, we're apparating to Greyback Manor," he said and quickly gave directions. "We'll meet on the eastern side of the house, out of view. I'm waiting five minutes, if you're any later, I'll go on without you."

The WCU members all nodded, Hume included.

"Good. Let's go!" With that, he took one step forward and, as his cloak tails snapped in the air, he vanished.

_To be continued…_

_

* * *

_

_A/N: Yay, done, congratulations! I've never really been fond of this chapter, too much exposition, and the execution was never quite as good as the concept (story of my life). The whole imagery of blood on cherry blossoms, which was supposed to be mildly symbolic of Remus getting bitten, and generally poignant, didn't come out right (certainly doesn't sound right as a title) and just seems like an overdone cop-out. And I could never work out a good way to justify Moody getting all protective without him becoming a cliche 'fictional deftective', but... well, whatever. Needless to say, this is my least favourite chapter of this prologue._

_On a happier note, Part Four is probably my favourite chapter of this, so that's something to look forward to. I have only one more exam (four Shakespeare essays, yahoo...) and I am done for the year. So, I should update__ soon-ish. Hopefully before December. But no promises._

_Remember: any ideas for better chapter titles, I'm all ears. And please review! (Thanks again, MickeyLeek; it warms the cold cockles of my heart that even one person in the whole wide world seems to like this)._

_'Till next time, cheerio!_


	4. Part IV: Fight and Flight

_A/N: Well my friends, here we have it, the final instalment of this whopper, four part prologue. Sorry for the delay in update, I had planned to publish somewhat sooner than this, and I have no excuse other than pure laziness on my part._

_I will not delay any longer, so here it is._

* * *

**Of Wolf and Man**

**Prologue**

**Part IV**

Fight and Flight

_In which our current hero and his companions come in close contact with the perpetrator of these felonies and closure is sought by several people._

With a loud crack and a curse, Alastor Moody appeared out of thin air, stumbled on a gnarled tree root and toppled backwards into a small shrub. He cursed again, for good measure, and pulled himself back to his feet. Withdrawing his wand, he quickly scanned the forest around him; mission rule number one, always know your surroundings.

The woods were awash with the browns and vibrant greens of spring as the flora flourished into new life. The sky could not be seen through the heavy canopy draped over him, but sunshine peaked through in weak slices of light. Dew hung from drooping leaves and the ground beneath his feet was damp, yet the rain seemed to have passed.

Moody was waiting only moments, barely long enough to regain his balance and bearings, before a subtle crack was heard behind him and a young blond man stumbled out of the bushes. He quickly caught sight of Moody and tried to right himself and recover some sort of dignity. Alastor was quite impressed as he actually managed to gain his feet again without falling over.

The young man quickly strode to the Auror's side and glanced at him shyly, hopefully. He was the first to arrive, after all. Unfortunately for him, Moody had never been much of a believer in positive reinforcement.

"Took your time," the man said, looking the young recruit up and down. "What's your name, again?"

The other man blinked, looking vaguely hurt, or perhaps just annoyed. "Caldwell," he answered shortly, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"Right," the Auror answered with an ironic twist to his voice. "Now, I want you to wait here for the others. I'm going to take a look around, see if I can find an easy way into Greyback's house."

Caldwell snapped back a reply almost immediately. "I could go instead, sir. I'm wouldn't want to rob you of the opportunity to criticize the rest of the team for their tardiness." His chin was jutting out stubbornly again. Moody chuckled slightly at the lad's moxie. But, instead of replying, he patted the boy on the shoulder and walked away between the trees.

He emerged a few moments later in a large clearing where Greyback Manor was built. Wide lawns surrounded the mansion on all sides where the trees had been cut away. It was clear no one had attended the grounds for some time, and save for one well trodden path leading to the curved stone steps at the front of the house, the grass had grown limp and long and lay across the earth in damp, brownish waves.

The mansion itself was an old building, and hadn't quite lost the look of grandeur with which it had been built. With its sharp sloped roofs and intricate gothic framework, it loomed tall and ominous, casting a long shadow over the woods beneath. But time had ravaged it and, like the grounds on which it stood, it had been unaided in its battle. Its stone walls were chipped and crumbled, coated in a grey-green moss that spidered across the stone. The windows were cracked and filthy; some shattered completely and boarded up with rotting wood.

Moody silently made his way around the house, concealed within the trees. There was a door hidden in a crook at the back of the house, probably an old servants' entrance, leading to what he thought looked like a kitchen. It was what he had hoped for; back entrances were particularly useful when trespassing.

Assured, Alastor picked his way back through the woods to Caldwell. When he returned, he found a middle-aged woman had arrived in his absence. He nodded to her briefly but didn't say anything.

The three stood together in silence, waiting for the rest of their team. Slowly they arrived, some appearing only feet from where they stood, others stumbling out from within the trees. Hume, Moody noted with relish, seemed to have missed his mark and was one of the last to arrive, emerging from the forest with a twig in his hair.

When, finally, they were all gathered, Moody turned to address them again.

"Alright then," he started, looking over the rather mismatched team. "Here's the plan. We head around to the back of the house and slip in through the servants' entrance. Once inside, we split up, look around and try to track down Greyback."

"Who's to say he's even here," said a tall, black man from the back of the group.

Moody narrowed his eyes at the man, who cowered under his glare. "Greyback's predictable, if nothing else. He'll be here."

He looked around the group once more. "So, any more questions?" he finished, intending the query to be rhetorical.

"I have one, though I suppose it is more of a suggestion."

Moody suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and turned to look at Octavius Hume. He stood to the side of the party, his nose turned upwards and his silvery hair swept back from his face, the twig pointing jauntily upwards at the back of his head.

"I would suggest, rather than trying to use subterfuge and stealth, which if caught, only makes us appear hostile, we instead approach the house from the front in order to see if anyone is there at all. If Greyback is home, then perhaps there needn't be a confrontation at all. We do outnumber him significantly, and he may come quietly." Hume smirked at Moody. "After all, it is the logical thing to do."

Moody glared at the wizened man, and barely managed to bury the seething growl that rose in his throat. "Werewolves aren't exactly the sort to 'come quietly', Hume, as you should know." His tone was scathing. "Greyback in particular. We do it my way and we have the element of surprise."

"But, I'm sure the rest of us would far prefer to avoid conflict, if that is at all possible, Alastor."

The WCU Head looked around at the other members of their makeshift team. Moody knew he had lost the battle by the expressions that rose on their faces.

Hume clapped his hands together, cheerfully. "Well, that's that then," he said, grinning rather derisively at Alastor. "Lead the way, by all means." He gestured towards Greyback Manor and bowed mockingly, clearly enjoying the one and only victory he was going to get from the Auror. This time Moody really did snarl as he passed him and set off towards the mansion.

The truth was, as much as the Auror disliked Hume, he was happy to have him along on this mission. It was well known that, in his youth, Octavius Hume had been one of the finest duellists and werewolf trackers the Ministry had seen for many years. There had been little surprise when he had been made head of the Werewolf Capture Unit, the youngest ever. Moody hoped that age hadn't slackened his skills; if it came down to a fight with Greyback, they may very well need all the help they could get.

Upon reaching the front steps of the manor, leading up to the large, oak doors, Moody paused for a moment. He wasn't at all fond of this new plan. He slowly mounted the stairs, reached out a calloused hand towards the wood and knocked.

There was no answer.

He knocked again.

Still, there was no response.

He tried once more, louder this time, but the only reply was the dull echo of the knock resounding from within the house.

Moody turned back to the group. Caldwell, who had remained at the bottom of the stairs inspecting the windows for signs of life, shook his head once; there was no obvious movement inside. Alastor sighed, and gripped the handle of the door, wand steady in his fist.

"So much for that idea," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else before turning his head to address the others.

"Alright, Caldwell, and you," he said, pointing to a young, dark haired girl standing near him. "You're with me. The rest of you are with Hume. Follow our leads. Once inside, my group will search the upstairs. Hume, you take the lower level. We understood?" There were nods of assent from all around.

Moody inclined his head in return. Good luck, he couldn't help but think before turning the handle and pushing into the house.

Immediately, the stagnant smell of must and mould flooded his senses. As he entered, followed silently by the rest of the team, he looked around. A strange yellow-green seemed to radiate ubiquitously within the manor as the furniture, walls and fixtures all appeared to be in some state of decay. Wallpaper was peeling from the wood and mildew dripped in moist deposits from the ceiling all around them. The house was silent, but for the creaking and groaning of wood and stone and the steady drip-drip-drip of moisture trickling down a windowpane somewhere nearby.

To their right, a broad staircase led upstairs, the banister half-collapsed over the carpeted steps. On their left, several passageways lead to a dining room and lounge. Moody nodded to Hume, indicating for him to head in that direction and Hume nodded back in turn, all animosity between them put aside. The old man led his team slowly away, all stepping carefully to avoid noise. Caldwell and the brunette girl quietly followed Moody towards the staircase and together, they began to climb.

What followed happened so fast, that in retrospect, Moody was actually impressed by how well they handled the situation.

Barely halfway up the stairs, a sudden rush of footsteps and the creaked complaints from the wooden floorboards were all the warning Moody received before he was tackled by something large, rank and hairy. Along with his attacker, he fell to the ground and tumbled painfully down the stairs to land awkwardly at the bottom. His assailant sprung quickly to his feet while Moody himself struggled up off the ground.

He didn't need training and extensive study to realise that it was Fenrir Greyback who stood over him – a very angry Greyback, at that.

He was also lucky that both the dark haired girl and Caldwell were quick shots.

Before he could cause any kind of damage, the werewolf stumbled to the side, barely managing to dodge the streaks of red light that whipped past him. As Moody regained his footing and was joined by the two recruits, he got what he hoped would be his last look at the werewolf he'd been tracking for so long.

In the state he was in, Greyback was impressive to say the least. His hair hung in mangy, greying tangles around his face, and his neck, chin and cheeks were covered with significantly more than an early-morning shadow. His grizzled appearance was only made worse by the open, seeping sores spread across his face, and the blood still smeared around his mouth. His yellowed teeth were bared in a snarl and Moody noted with revolt that his canines were pointed and apparently sharp. He was also one of the largest men the Auror had ever seen, towering over him and his two allies, a great mass of huge shoulders and seething muscles barely covered by the ragged robes he wore.

In his hand, a long, thick wand was gripped, yellowed fingernails, more like claws, wrapped tightly around it. The weapon wasn't raised however; Greyback seemed almost unaware of its existence as he faced off against the three before him. He was also heavily favouring his right leg, a dark and painful looking bruise already swelling and discolouring the other knee. Both aspects were duly noted by Moody, who realised they could be the only advantages they had against the otherwise enraged and murderous werewolf.

The Auror tensed, his own wand held tightly and steadily in his fist, waiting for the other man to make the first move.

Greyback took the hint and wasted little time before attacking again.

He threw himself bodily at Moody, too fast to release any spells in defence, and sheer luck helped propel the Auror out from under the large lycanthrope's mass and away to the side. Caldwell, who had leapt away and climbed up the staircase again, rained curse upon curse down on the large man, who, again, sprung out of the way. He was far quicker than his bulk alluded he'd be.

With a powerful open-hand swipe, Greyback knocked the dark haired girl away and she crumpled against the wall in the corner. Moody joined Caldwell as they fired hexes, spells, jinxes and curses, whatever means of defence they could think of, at Greyback who continued to dodge with an unsuited dexterity. When they had finally backed him into a corner, the werewolf surprised them both as he raised his wand and flicked it once, an invisible and powerful barrier righting itself in the air between him and them, their spells shattering uselessly upon it.

Help came in the form of Octavius Hume, who surged out from down the hallway slinging well-aimed curses that shattered the werewolf's shield charm and forced him out of his corner. With a snarl, the large man leapt towards Hume, who brandished his wand almost like a sword and knocked the werewolf away with a strong sweeping motion. Greyback fell back to the ground, but regained his feet quickly, turning around sharply only to notice, too late, that he was surrounded.

Moody couldn't help but be impressed by how well the makeshift team he had formed worked together. Hume and two of the three recruits he had with him covered the werewolf on all sides, preventing him from fleeing further into the house, while Moody blocked the door and Caldwell, the stairs. The tall, black man from earlier was helping the brunette girl to her feet. The Auror could see blood spread across her face from where the lycanthrope had hit her. Those nails were even sharper than they looked.

After several tense moments Greyback turned to Moody, a grim and savage smile spread across his face.

"Well, Moody," he said, his voice coarse and gravely. "Seems you've finally caught me. Tell me though, whose brilliant idea was it to come knocking first? It can't have been yours; the Alastor Moody I know is renowned for his underhandedness."

He turned to look at Octavius, the grin widening. "I suppose I should thank you for that. It's textbook Hume: far more concerned with how you come off looking than actually getting the job done right. Well, I owe you my freedom, old man. You might have actually caught me by surprise, otherwise."

"Need I remind you, Greyback, that you are surrounded, outnumbered and already wounded," Octavius Hume said with as much authority as he could muster. "Giving yourself up now would be the best option for you. You cannot defeat all of us."

Greyback laughed a huge, hacking, bark-like laugh and turned back to the Auror. "Moody, please tell me that fool isn't leading this little _mission_ of yours. He doesn't have anywhere near enough of the mongrel necessary to bring down someone like me."

On the other side of Greyback, Hume bristled. "Fenrir Greyback," he cried out. "You are hereby under arrest for the–"

"Oh, shut it, Hume," Moody snapped suddenly, and the other man glared at him, fiercely.

Greyback was still staring at the Auror, a sudden hungry look in his eyes. "Tell me, did that Lupin brat survive?" he asked; his voice now suddenly hushed. "That family gave me a bit more trouble than I'd expected, but it all worked to plan. Tell me he survived, Moody. Tell me I finally did it."

His cruel, pale eyes were gleaming with zeal and Moody finally understood what exactly it was Greyback had been trying to do all along, the real motive behind all of the attacks. He hadn't been trying to kill these children as an act of revenge upon their parents; he was trying to contaminate them. Pass on the same curse he carried inside him to create a new generation of werewolves.

Moody didn't plan on giving the beast the satisfaction of knowing what he had finally accomplished with Remus Lupin. He shook his head grimly and watched with malicious pleasure, the dream die in Greyback's eyes.

The werewolf growled low and furious under his breath and glared with deep hatred at the Auror.

"Then at least tell me this, how did you know for certain it was me this time?"

Now, Moody allowed the smirk that had been twitching at the corners of his mouth to widen across his face. He took his time with what he said next, if only to sate his own need for dramatics but also to savour the expression that rose on the werewolf's face as he said it.

"We didn't. You just admitted it."

Moody was sure that nothing in his life had been more gratifying that watching the look of shocked realisation that dawned in Greyback's eyes as he spoke.

His jubilation didn't last long.

Roaring with an inhuman voice, the werewolf threw himself bodily at Moody, spittle and blood flying from his lips. This time, the Auror was ready. Dodging to the side, he caught Greyback in the air with a stunning spell that sent him tumbling backwards, though somehow still conscious. The large man rolled nimbly to his feet and brandished his own wand, consecutive cracks followed by flashes of bright light filled the room and Moody and several of his ally's were thrown away from the fight.

From halfway up the stairs, Caldwell unleashed an arsenal of curses and hexes upon the werewolf, desperate to keep him busy until the others could help again. Whatever headway he had made, however, was completely destroyed by Hume as he leapt in front of Greyback, engaging him directly.

The fight that ensued was a memory that stayed with Moody for many years afterwards.

The two men battled fiercely, one lashing out with claw tipped hands, the other with jets of blinding light, some that struck home, others that were batted away by his oppositions wand, more that flew off wildly, keeping anyone else from entering the fray. As he pulled himself to his feet, his companions also rising around him, watching enthralled the war waging between the two men, Alastor alone seemed aware of the eventual outcome of the fight and stood quaking in silent unease as he looked on at what he knew would be one of the men's last few moments of life.

The mistake came as Greyback pitched forward, reaching out to slash across his opponents face, and Hume threw himself away in retreat. As he lurched backwards onto his right foot, his leg crumbled under his weight and he fell to his knee.

It seemed to take an age for the werewolf to reach him, an age in which Moody could do nothing more than observe the horror and realisation spread over the older man's face. His normally immaculate mousy-grey hair was tousled in discord. His still proud and strong shoulders were slumped in unconscious defeat. With widened eyes and abated breath, Octavius Hume watched as his death came towards him.

Greyback's hand slashed once sideways, tearing into Hume's throat, through it, leaving behind a gaping wound from which a fountain of blood gushed, and the old man toppled to his side, twitched once, and then lay still.

The werewolf turned to Moody and grinned, raising his large hand as if to show him the blood running from his wickedly clawed fingers. Then, he spun around, wrenched the now-unguarded door open and fled from the house.

In a flurry of movement, the WCU workers and Moody himself flew into action. While the recruits ran, in vain, to Hume's aid, desperate to do something to rectify the situation, the Auror sped off in pursuit of the werewolf, Caldwell close behind him.

He leapt down the front steps and took aim at the large man's fleeing back. His stunning spell struck home and Greyback slumped, unmoving to the ground. With Caldwell at his side, he ran after the werewolf, who was already starting to shake off the spell, drunkenly rising.

As they reached him, Greyback raised his wand and slashed it sideways, a streak of light speeding at Caldwell, who slapped it away easily. Moody flicked his wand and ropes flew from the end only to burst into flames as they approached the large man, imprinting a momentarily blinding image into the Auror's vision. Taking quick advantage of this, Greyback leapt at Moody, tackling him to the ground and slashed at his face. A roar cracked the Auror's lips as he felt the burning, tearing sting of claws digging deep into the skin of cheek and ripping across his eye. Black and red filled his vision and he barely noticed as the werewolf was thrown off him by a powerful spell from Caldwell that struck Greyback in the side.

Rolling over and blinking blearily, Moody watched as his young blonde ally advanced on the werewolf, striking him again and again with the same spell, tossing him about the clearing like a large, hairy rag doll. Eventually, Caldwell ceased, having finally worn the other man down, and took careful aim at Greyback, intent on stunning and securing him for deportation to Azkaban. It was then that the werewolf acted.

Using what was left of his strength Greyback raised his wand and cried, "_Abrito!_"

A bright slash of light, just like the one he had attempted to stop Caldwell with before, streaked towards the young man. This time, the blond wasn't so lucky. Distracted and unprepared as he was, he barley managed to raise his shield charm in time. The spell struck the invisible barrier and sliced through it, loosing momentum and straying slightly off course, but striking true, nevertheless. With an agonised cry, the young man fell. Moody caught only a brief glimpse of a spray of blood, a gaping tear in the blond's upper thigh and a white flash of bone before he hit the ground.

Now standing again, the sores in his face staining his features red, Greyback looked back. His eyes met Moody's and the Auror could see the laughter in them. It was a vision that haunted Moody for many nights afterwards – the werewolf standing calmly, watching the two men lying on the ground with cruel eyes set deep in his bleeding face, grinning all the while.

Ironically, Greyback inclined his head and without a sound, he turned and vanished into the trees.

* * *

The floors of the corridor reflected the pale light from the ceiling with mirror-like accuracy. As Moody trudged along them, his limp even more pronounced than normal, his mind raced, sifting through the murky fog of his memories of the past few hours. Everything had happened so fast it was hard to believe it had in fact been _hours_ since they had left the forest, since Fenrir Greyback had fled, since Hume had been killed.

With a heavy sigh, Moody slumped against the wall, gazing pensively out a window. It was no longer raining but the view was obscured by a thick grey-ness of swirling clouds and moisture.

Reporting Hume's death back to the Werewolf Capture Unit had not been an easy job. Despite Moody's opinion of him, Octavius had been well liked or at least admired and the news of his demise had thrown the headquarters into turmoil. It was only after Allan Brody had turned up to re-establish some semblance of order and name the new WCU leader that the workers had calmed down.

The more Moody thought about it, the deeper guilt bored into his stomach. The Auror couldn't help but berate himself for not seeing the signs sooner. Hume had been injured several weeks before, Brody had told him. It had been a stupid accident, and not entirely Hume's fault, yet the WCU Head had not handled it well. After hearing that, Octavius's actions during the fight with Greyback made far more sense. Moody assumed then that the only reason the older man had engaged Fenrir alone was for some sense of security in his abilities, only to have his still recovering leg betray him.

With a rather bitter sigh, Moody grudgingly accepted the irony of the whole situation.

Brody had also informed the Auror that Greyback had fled the country, as reported by the Apparition Detection Agency who monitored potentially dangerous ex-inmates such as Fenrir. Moody wasn't sure exactly how to take this news. Now that his guilt had been proven, by both his confession and the recently discovered blood evidence found at the Lupins' home, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that the werewolf was guilty. The fact that Greyback was no longer in Britain was reassuring, yet it also removed the chance of tracking him down again.

Alastor pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind – revenge was never a good motivator and was far more likely to get him killed than help him accomplish anything.

After settling his reports at the Ministry, Moody had returned to St Mungo's Hospital where he had already been discharged. The slash across his face had been healed quickly enough, though it still slightly ached and evidence of its existence remained upon his face in the form of three pale scars running the length of his left cheek and over his eye. The Healer had insisted that the scars would fade with time, but lycanthropic inflicted injuries were always more complicated than normal.

He had already checked up on the rest of his 'team'. The dark haired girl's face had been healed as simply as Moody's. She had already been carted off home, dragged away by her tearful mother who had muttered under her breath about new-age women and the unnecessarily dangerous jobs they insisted upon keeping. The others bore no worse than a few bruises as souvenirs, all apart from Caldwell, who was still in recovery. The Severing Curse that Greyback had used had almost cost him his leg, slicing through the top of his thigh, tearing flesh, muscles, and tendons and nearly cutting his bone clean in two. Some quick first-aid from Moody had helped staunch the lethally heavy flow of blood that would have otherwise killed him and getting him to St Mungo's as fast as they had had saved his leg. The worst-case scenario for him now was that he would have a limp, though Moody had assured him that it wasn't nearly as bad as some people made it out to be.

The reason for the Auror's return was before him, waiting behind the second door on the left, opposite the Dai Llewellyn ward.

Moody wasn't entirely sure why he was putting off his meeting with the Lupins. After all, for all the time he had worked on his case this was the first instance in which he had had some sort of _good_ news to report to the family in question. Yet he couldn't help the disgrace he felt at Greyback's escape. But there was nothing more he could do now, and he was sure that they would be grateful, regardless of the outcome. With a rather resigned huff, he pushed off the wall and reached out a hand to knock on the door to the private room beyond.

Again, Roland Lupin answered almost straight away. His brown eyes widened briefly at the sight of the Auror and he blinked rather stupidly, as though unsure what to say. Moody remembered their previous encounter and recognised the slight glint of shame in the man's expression. Somewhat out of character, the Auror smiled reassuringly, though there was chance it didn't have the intended effect appearing so incompatible on his grizzled face.

"I was wondering if I could have a word with you," Moody said, gesturing out into the corridor. "I have some news you'll want to hear"

Lupin blinked several times, but complied silently, shutting the door behind him. The Auror took in a deep breath before beginning.

"To get to the point," he stated, "I and several others from the Werewolf Capture Unit went to confront Greyback at his manor. While there, he confessed to attacking your son." Moody grinned again, only slightly resentfully. "So, I suppose I should thank you. The information you gave me helped give us the evidence we needed and I know that wasn't… easy for you to tell me. So, thank you."

Lupin was staring at him intently.

"What about Greyback?" he asked, keenly. "Did you arrest him?"

Moody sighed and cast a weary hand over his face.

"Unfortunately, no, we didn't," he said finally. "One of our members was… injured and Greyback got away when we were trying to help him." Despite the aggravation Lupin had caused him when last he had been here, Moody felt he didn't need to know the finer details about what had happened. He already had his son's attack on his conscience; he didn't need Hume's death as well.

"But, the Apparition Detection Agency has told us that Greyback has left the country, returned to Austria, they think, so there isn't anything you should worry about. That also means that he's now beyond our jurisdiction, but we'll do all we can to make sure he never sets foot in this country again."

Lupin was holding his head in his hands now and when he did finally look up, tears stood unshod in his eyes. He forced out a heavy breath and smiled, shakily.

"Thank you," he said sincerely and his voice quavered. He reached out his hand and Moody took it, gripping it firmly in his own. Wiping away his tears with the back of his hand, Lupin turned back to the door behind him.

"I want to tell my wife," he said, then twisted to look at Moody. "Come in, she'll want to thank you as well."

Alastor nodded and followed the taller man into the room.

Roland moved around to the other side of the bed to stand next to his wife, who was watching the Auror, warily, nervously trying to straighten the skirt of her pale blue dress. As her husband bent down and whispered something in her ear, her eyes widened, and she sighed heavily. Thick, clumsy tears splashed down her cheeks but she calmly brushed them away and smiled at Moody, a relieved and radiant smile that lit up her entire face, before turning to look at her son.

It was only then that Alastor noticed that Remus Lupin was awake.

The small, pale boy wasn't sitting up, but he was obviously alert and conscious. Some colour had filled his previously ashen skin and he stared around the room with large, blue eyes. He blinked several times, much the same way his father had before, looking between Moody and his mother. Elaine Lupin merely continued to smile at him and brushed a hand through his sandy hair.

"Remus," she said softly, as though if she spoke too loud the boy would shatter completely. "This is Alastor Moody. He's been trying to catch the bad man that hurt you."

Remus blinked again, but seemed to understand. He looked at Moody and gave a small smile. The same dimple the Auror had noticed in his photo of the boy winked in his left cheek. The Auror nodded back at him and tried to smile, rather unsure how to act.

Several moments passed in silence before Elaine spoke again.

"I'm going to get some tea," she said, looking at Moody as though rather amused by his discomfort. "I think we could use some."

"I'll get it," Roland said simply, before striding abruptly from the room without waiting for a response. He looked rather relieved for the break.

Elaine stood as well, and walked over to the window where she gazed out at the city, stretching her tired and cramped body. Suddenly, a small voice sounded from the bed, drawing the attention of the two adults in the room.

"You have scars," the voice said and Moody turned to look at Remus Lupin, who was staring at him, or more specifically, at the pale mark of his recent wound and the twist of his upper lip. Alastor nodded, slowly, unsure again how to act.

"Mum says I'll have them now too," Remus continued, lifting his left hand and touching the cuts across his face. He flinched only slightly as his small fingers came in contact with the raw skin, but seemed to look at Moody expectantly, as though waiting for something. His mother was looking at the Auror as well, and she nodded at him, indicating that he should reply.

"Ah, yeah," he said, lamely. "You shouldn't worry though, they'll fade eventually. They always do."

Remus continued to stare at him and narrowed his eyes, frowning. He appeared almost to be scrutinizing Moody, trying to puzzle out something about him the Auror couldn't understand.

"You're not scared of me." It wasn't a question. Moody's eyes widened as the small boy continued. "Everyone else is. I don't know why, and Mum won't tell me. But I can't do anything to them; I'm just a boy." Remus paused and looked away briefly. "But you're not scared. You're the only one."

The boy's large eyes were dry but the sad truth of the statement cut deep into Moody. A small sniff came from his left and he saw that Elaine Lupin's own eyes had filled with tears again and her lips shook as she looked at her son.

"People are stupid," Moody replied, without really thinking, "You'll work that out more as you get older. This won't be the last time that people are scared of you for no good reason, just because of something you had no control over. You just have to…" He broke off and took a breath, realising that Elaine Lupin was watching him with a very curious expression on her face. "You just have to remember that it's _who_ you are that matters, not _what_."

Remus blinked again, but made no effort to respond.

Quite suddenly, a green clad Healer burst in through the door, oblivious to its occupants. Roland Lupin followed, warily watching the Healer and holding two cups of tea that he placed on the small table by the window. The Auror decided to take this as his cue to exit.

"I need to be going now," he said, rather ashamed to be so desperate to leave. "I… ah… good luck," he finished, lamely, before turning and all but fleeing from the room.

He was barely half-way down the hallway when Elaine caught up with him. He blinked and looked at her rather shocked. He hadn't thought she'd be willing to leave her son's side just yet.

"I'll walk you to the exit," she stated.

Neither one of them spoke on their way down to the reception area and the fireplace Moody was planning on taking back to the Ministry. When finally they did reach it, Elaine touched his arm, asking him to wait a moment before departing.

"I…" she began, but faltered, as though uncertain what exactly it was she wanted to say. "I don't really know what's going to happen to us, to our family. Everything is going to change now." She wasn't looking at him and Alastor knew there was no need to reply.

"Thank you, for everything," she said eventually, finally looking him in the eye. "I know that Remus isn't going to have an easy life. I won't ever give up on him, but I'm his mother, I'll love him no matter what. It means a lot that someone other me, especially someone who does what you do, doesn't judge him because of what's happened."

She bit her lip before smiling rather sadly and held out her hand. Alastor shook it gently.

She continued to watch him, her eyes filling with tears again, until he vanished, disappearing in a flash of emerald flames.

* * *

As Moody appeared with a crack in his living room, shaking of the dizziness of apparition, his mind could focus on only two things: bed and sleep. The day had been long and difficult, the morning's action followed by tedious hours of paperwork. Overwhelmed by sudden exhaustion, he stumbled, blearily, into his bedroom, kicking off his heavy shoes and lying down on his bed. It was still unmade from when he had risen early that morning, the note from Brody resting where he'd left it on his dressing table.

Yet no matter what he tried, he couldn't get to sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, his mind would stray from calming thoughts of rest and relaxation and would linger on Fenrir Greyback. And on the children whose lives he had destroyed. Moody had thought that finally knowing for sure that it was Greyback who was behind all of the attacks would give him some sort of closure, that having the chance to confront him about it may finally give him some peace of mind concerning this case, even if he did manage to escape.

Apparently, he was wrong.

"Remus isn't going to have an easy life", Elaine Lupin had said. Moody snorted under his breath; that was the understatement of the century. It was strange, and more than slightly disconcerting, that the two people who should have had the least understanding of everything that had happened, a boy barely older than a toddler and a muggle woman, were the two people who seemed to realise best exactly how drastically life had changed for them.

Or rather, how drastically Fenrir Greyback had changed their lives.

Moody rolled over, savagely driving his fist into his pillow over and over again until its seams burst under the pressure and it exploded in a cloud of downy feathers. But it didn't help. I didn't make anything better.

* * *

Elaine Lupin stood in the centre of the lounge in her family's house in the country. She stared at the room around her, her head still spinning from the floo, waiting as the world stopped turning and finally righted itself. The Healers had informed her hours ago that they would be keeping her son at the hospital for at least another month for observation. Until the next full moon, Elaine corrected herself, but desperately forced away images of what exactly the full moon now meant for her son. Knowing there was no chance she would be staying at home while Remus remained at St Mungo's, she had decided that she should return to their house to gather up the belongings she and her family would need during their stay.

She hadn't expected there to be this much mess, however. This much blood.

Sleep deprived and distressed as she was, she knew any decision she made while in her current state of mind shouldn't be taken seriously.

Regardless, she also knew that she would never live in this house again. She didn't care what that meant for her family, where they would have to relocate to. She didn't care that she was being rash and slightly unreasonable. All she knew was that she couldn't live in a house where her son had shed so much blood.

She looked over to the cracked remains of the kitchen table where Remus had sat, only the night before. The drawing he had been colouring lay on the ground, torn and dirty and stuck through with glass. "The picture will still be there in the morning", she had said to him. And there it was, waiting to be completed.

Elaine knew now that it would never be finished.

_The end..._

* * *

_A/N: And, done. It is really quite a relief to finally get around to finishing, checking that little 'complete' box, and leaving this prologue, five years in the making, to rest. This chapter is probably my favourite, though I'm not entirely sure why. I have issues with quite a lot of the writing (issues in that I think it is quite bad in places) but I like action and dialogue, and after so much exposition and setting everything up, I'm reasonably proud of how it turned out. Hopefully the pay-off was worth the build-up._

_The fight with Greyback was fun to write. Action, it seems, is something I find easier to write than expected. I'm quite a fan of action movies, so perhaps that's why. Hopefully, you all liked it and found it exciting. My rationale behind why Greyback is so powerful is fairly simple; he's a werewolf. And not your typical, Remus-like werewolf, but a non-human, embracing-of-his-wild-side magical creature. I figure that gives him a bit of an edge. Much like how half-giant Hagrid is somewhat immune to magic, offensive spells are not entirely effective against such a wolfish man. And then throw in the fact that he is an accomplished dark wizard, it makes him quite formidable._

_Just a funny story: in my original plan for this, when Greyback slashed Moody across the face, that was supposed to be how Moody lost his eye. I was totally stoked to write it and had lots of gory details all planned out in my head, then I checked in HP4 and saw that Moody didn't get his fake-eye until partway through the first war. I was gutted. I settled instead for nearly cutting Caldwell's leg off. In the end, I think it was a fair trade._

_I wasn't sure about the inclusion of 'insightful-baby' Remus. Those characters tend to annoy me, they're often overdone and completely cliche, but it was too hard to resist. I'm still not happy about that scene, but I think it needed to be there. For the sake of poignancy. And to state, loud and proud, the whole idea behind the character of Remus Lupin: "It's ****__who_ you are that matters, not _what_." I think that is a pretty nice idea.

_So, I apologise for the rambling analysis here, but I'm on a role and as this is the last chapter, I thought I might as well go all out._

_In conclusion, and most importantly, I say thank you to everyone who has read this (and a special __über _thanks to all who reviewed). I can only hope you all enjoyed this. And I also hope you might keep up with my writing. Now that this is done, I will soon start publishing the real meat of this monster story of mine. It might take a few weeks (again, I remind all of my extreme, extensive and frankly quite impressive laziness) but m___y exams are all over now (and yay, I passed everything) and I'm officially on summer holiday for the next three months, so hopefully that means I should be writing and uploading a bit more. Though don't hold your breath. It will be published under the name 'Of Wolf and Man: Book 1'... though where 'Book 1' ends, I don't yet know._

___And I have now run out of things to say. Again, thank you, this has been fun._

___So long, see you, e noho ra, goodbye my friends!_


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